


and they were clanmates (oh my god they were clanmates)

by Duckwastaken



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: (and kind of scary), Fluff, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, spottedleaf is a good friend, whitestorm isnt as smooth as he thinks he is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27693089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckwastaken/pseuds/Duckwastaken
Summary: “Do you think toms can love each other?” he asks, and uncertainty is so deep-woven into the question she’s inclined to be reminded of the way apprentices ask their mentors why something is the way it is.
Relationships: Redtail & Spottedleaf (Warriors), Redtail/Whitestorm (Warriors), Spottedleaf & Whitestorm (Warriors)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	and they were clanmates (oh my god they were clanmates)

**Author's Note:**

> howdy! i dont really have a big plan for how long this is going to end up being, it's mostly just a little thing to have fun with. but rest assured, it will have a resolution! i wont abandon my boys... again...
> 
> i think of this as a sort of spiritual successor to [my first red/white fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164017), all the way back in 2018, which I sadly orphaned. it isn't great, but its one of my first fanfics ever and it holds a special place in my heart.

“Hey, Spottedleaf,” a deep meow came from behind her. The tortoiseshell she-cat looked up from where she’d been sorting herbs, her ears twitching towards the new cat in her den. Her own warm amber eyes met piercing yellow ones, deep-set into fluffy white fur. 

“Hello, Whitestorm,” she greets back. “Do you need something? You aren’t hurt, are you?” she asks, concern touching her soft voice. 

Whitestorm quickly shakes his head and walks deeper into the den. “No, no, nothing serious. I have a free afternoon, and I wanted to come to speak with you, if you’re not busy?”

Spottedleaf starts purring slightly, touched by the fact her clanmate had come to spend time with her, without any prompting- especially one as busy as Whitestorm. She sits down, preparing for a long conversation. “Oh, just sorting some herbs from this morning. I can easily leave it for later.”

Whitestorm purrs back at her answer for a moment, before he sits down next to her. They’re both facing the opening of the den, turned towards each other. The cats are sitting in the shadows of the rocky crevice, but the sun-high light slowly creeps across the packed dirt ground of the medicine den and will reach far enough to touch their paws soon. They can see the sun-basking elders and apprentices, some busy warriors getting ready to go patrolling. It’s a warm, lazy afternoon in Thunderclan, made warmer by the quiet presence of a friend.

Speaking of quiet, Whitestorm hasn’t yet actually talked, despite his almost shy request for conversation. She looks at him, and to most, it would seem that he’s simply enjoying the comfortable silence, but Spottedleaf’s always been good at reading cats, and she can see hesitance and maybe even a little discomfort in the twitching of his ears and the minute shift of his paws.

“Do you think-” Whitestorm starts at the same time as Spottedleaf’s, “So, is this about-” 

Spottedleaf lets out an amused huff and gestures her paw at Whitestorm. “You first,” he looks like he wants to insist she does for a moment before he seemingly decides it would be a waste of breath, and rightfully so- Spottedleaf is one of the most stubborn people she knows, except for maybe Bluestar.

“Do you think toms can love each other?” he asks, and uncertainty is so deep-woven into the question she’s inclined to be reminded of the way apprentices ask their mentors why something is the way it is. The question itself, though- that’s something else. Something about the way he’s acting, the way he’d asked the question, the way he’s looking at her now like he kind of regrets asking it in the first place but is determined to follow it through to the end- it all tells her that her response, whether it verbal or behavioral, is more important than she can understand right now. 

Spottedleaf twitches her ear in acknowledgment of the question and curls her tail in to flick at her front paws thoughtfully. She can see Whitestorm fidgeting slightly from the corner of her eye, and she truly doesn’t mean to torture him by making him wait for an answer, but she wants to give him the best advice she can, not what first comes off her tongue. 

“I think,” she starts, “that if you’ve been thinking about it as much as you have- enough to work up to asking me, then you already know the answer, Whitestorm. You just need me to validate your feelings.”

“Are they? Valid, I mean?” she swears there’s a bit of desperation in his voice now. 

“I’m not Starclan- none of us are. I can’t tell you what’s right or wrong any more than- than-” she looks up and points her tail at the first cat she sees, a young apprentice named Darkpaw, “than he can, for example. But thats not the point, really, is it? If this love you speak of is true and pure, I don’t think Bluestar or Starclan or the very earth beneath our paws has the right to tell you what you feel isn’t real.” she pauses, taking a breath, “well, as long as you aren’t creepy about it, but that goes for any kind of courtship, really.”

Whitestorm sighs softly. It clearly wasnt the answer he was looking for, but maybe the one he needed (hopefully). “Spottedleaf, sometimes I think youre too good at your job. It makes me suspicious.”

She lets out an undignified snort, the tension in the air unravelling like the spiderwebs she pulls down to use in her medicine. She stands and stretches, then rubs against Whitestorm’s chest as she passes him to go back to her herb sorting. 

When her friend gets up to leave after a moment, she calls out to him without looking up. “Redtail should be back from his patrol soon,” she says, faux innocence in her voice. She hears Whitestorm choke on his breath and hastily flee the den. She smiles at her herbs for a moment, before she gets back to sorting them.


End file.
